Aftermath
by greasyfreebooter
Summary: Part of him felt responsible—responsible for letting all of the pamphlets and literature get buried beneath the piles of fan mail and gifts, but at the time he figured that was what Shepard needed to see, not the rehabilitation brochure detailing the warning signs and symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
1. Husk

His hearing came back in waves as a dull encasing roar that clung to the sides of his face just like the thin, smoky haze that blanketed the stretching silhouettes that were closing in. Dizzy and disoriented, he palmed at the dampened soil beneath him until the earth stopped spinning and the ringing in his ears ceased. He crawled towards the overturned transport shuttle that came to rest a few yards away after violently tumbling over him, grimacing as the stench of burnt flesh and plastic filled his nostrils. The target was less than a quarter mile away, its intense light easily penetrating the debris and dust that had yet to settle. The ground was scorched and smoking where the laser had recently struck, creating a deep trench and yet another obstacle to overcome as he sluggishly brought himself to his feet.

Seeing the Normandy fly past Harbinger's defenses did little to soothe his fears. He became fixated on the worst case scenario; obsessed with the possibility of seeing the ship as a smoldering ruin. _'Make it to the beam at any cost.'_Hackett's words blared in his ear between the sound of his own pulse. Crimson sweat slid down the bridge of his nose as he continued to trudge forward, every heavy footstep causing the bulbs of blood and sweat to drip from his face and add into the collection below his feet. The scars on his face burned as did the ones beneath the remnants of the ceramic plates of his armor. Each excruciating step caused the serrated edges of his abdominal guard to sink into and twist against his deep laceration but regardless, he continued to move forward. The stakes were simply too high.

A moving figure in the distance broke his concentration. He stumbled forward and tripped just as the blur came into focus. Tubes and wires weaved between muscle and tissue, it's unnatural blue eyes glowing fiercely as they locked on his weakened form: a husk.

John inhaled shakily, bracing himself against the ground with his other hand clasped against the oozing gunshot wound in his belly. The creature shrieked and flailed wildly as it approached, it's demonic face strained and permanently frozen into a haunting scream from the hoses shoved down the throat of what used to be human. His sight lined up before the rest of him; Shepard's brilliant blue eyes targeting the incoming hostile with trained quickness as he made a reach for the M-96 Mattock at his side. Hand shaking, he closed his digits around the cool metal of the barrel, his own eyes going wide as he fumbled with the weapon he was normally so versed with. The monster closed in, now just inches away. His heart plummeted as the gun slipped from between his blood-slick fingers only to plunge and shatter into a hundred little pieces at it made contact with the black and white checkered tile below.

Shepard slothfully dodged the husk's first attack as it swiped at him violently. He fell to his knees and began to feverishly reassemble all of the fragments of plastic, steel, and glass. It didn't escape him how strange it was that his gun had splintered into dozens of pieces upon making contact with the ground yet he continued to frantically match them as if they were a puzzle—pink with pink, straight lines with straight lines, the section with the letter B painted on it fit next to the one with the L.

A pained hiss escaped his lips as he cut himself on one of the sharper edges, watching as the blood trickled down his calloused palm and onto the puzzle below. "Blasto?" He blurted out sluggishly. The husk had disappeared and the Mattock pistol had seemingly melted into the earth only to be replaced with an assortment of glass that made up a poorly drawn Hanar. His breath hitched as the Reaper sounded off once more, its earsplitting and thunderous rumble dissolving into a gentle swish and tumble: rushing water

Puzzled, the Commander looked up from the destroyed Blasto drinking glass and towards the source of the reverberation. The dishwasher. He looked to the spot where the husk had vanished; taking notice of the doorframe that had materialized there.

"Hey Shepard, did you finish unloading the dishwasher? We're going to be late if we don't head out in a few." A disembodied but familiar voice chimed from down the hall. Not a moment later a figure reappeared, however it was not some Reaper abomination standing there this time.

"Kaidan," he whispered, voice husky and breathing sporadic as though he had just run a mile in heavy armor.

The breathless whisper went unnoticed but the mess of broken glass and blood was hard to miss. Blinking in surprise, the Major quickly rushed to John's side and lifted his hand to inspect the gash that ran diagonally across his palm. His lips parted to speak but he was promptly cut off by Shepard's own interjection.

"The glass slipped when I was putting it away," he explained compellingly. Smiling faintly, he withdrew his hand from the other man's grasp and stepped towards the sink in order to wash and disinfect his wound.

"That was my favorite glass, too." The former Commander added as he looked over his shoulder, his face wrinkled with fatigue but his smile too captivating to argue. They had bought it as a souvenir the night they had gone to see the new Blasto flick sometime before London; the media had had a field day with that one.

The L2 biotic stood there for a moment, his brow heavy with concern at his partner's sudden apprehensiveness. However, he didn't pry any further.

"Don't worry. We can always get another one." Kaidan replied tentatively.

_Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.A noun: a psychological reaction occurring after experiencing a highly stressing event (as wartime combat, physical violence, or a natural disaster) that is usually characterized by depression, anxiety, flashbacks, recurrent nightmares, and avoidance of reminders of the event —abbreviation _PTSD_._


	2. Corrode

The front door opened with a recognizable hiss and suction, followed by the sound of keys hitting the sturdy granite tabletop, and a genuine and tired sigh of relief. Pursuing the steady hum of the stereo Kaidan ascended the stairs. He appeared in the doorway a few moments later, donned in a pair of dark blue slacks and a matching double breasted Alliance jacket, the traditional arch and three stars insignia shining brightly alongside his assortment of other badges and medals. The movement caught Shepard's attention causing him to look up from his data pad only to glance over at the time displayed on the digital clock on the bedside table.

"Six already?" John asked rhetorically, having been absorbed in his work for so long he was wondering where the day had gone. His knees clicked as he stood from the desk and yawned, gripping the tablet in one hand and covering his mouth with the other. "How was the evaluation?" He inquired, catching Kaidan around the waist as he made a beeline for the restroom.

"Good actually. There were a few hiccups but as far as I'm concerned, everyone passed." The L2 Major-turned-teacher responded with a half-smile, idly gripping at the strings dangling from the other's worn N7 hoodie. Shepard smiled at the news and pressed a chaste kiss to his partner's lips before reluctantly releasing him.

"So, do the kids call you Mr. A?" He joked, his eyes shamelessly roaming over Alenko's backside before he disappeared into the adjoined bathroom. "Gonna' be Mr. S in a few months." The former Commander called out just loud enough for Kaidan to hear.

They weren't entirely on the same page in regards to who would take whose last name yet.

Although both he and Kaidan were still Alliance soldiers and part of the Council Spectres program, their priorities had shifted drastically. With the first anniversary of the end of the Reaper war right around the corner, things had been extra hectic. Shepard had become the front man, so to speak, of Alliance and Citadel space recovery while Kaidan had resumed his teaching gig as head of the Alliance's Special Ops Biotics Division. Between the Citadel reclamation program, restoring the Mass Relays, recruiting new soldiers, and paying their respects to the old ones, there was little time left for personal affairs. Shepard and Kaidan managed; life was complicated but Kaidan often joked they'd be more lost if it weren't.

Anderson's former apartment on the Citadel had become home for the two of them. They briefly considered moving somewhere closer to Vancouver base to keep Kaidan's mother company—his father was still MIA—but with their relationship being as fresh as it was, they ultimately decided that they needed a place of their own.

"Ryuusei is reopening tonight, by the way. I'm still shocked they invited you after you went ahead and liberated their entire menu and engaged in a full-fledged firefight in their kitchen." Kaidan chuckled from the other room, unaware that Shepard had completely forgotten about the restaurant reopening.

"Well, you know me. I always have to make an impression." John replied. He abandoned the data pad on the bed and started to file through his modest collection of clothing while Kaidan washed up. Although he had become somewhat of a hermit since being released from the hospital, Shepard enjoyed the occasional night out; it was really no surprise that the pins in his knees and cartilage scraped joints impaired his dancing even further.

Fresh faced and revitalized, the Major reentered the bedroom and patted his face dry with the white wash cloth hanging around his now bare shoulders. Kaidan cocked an eyebrow at the hungry stare he received from his partner before rolling his eyes and tossing the towel in his direction, shutting the Commander up before he could make yet another comment about how he should look into getting an uniform like Jack's. 'You're both teachers,' Shepard had pointed out as though her outfits were standard for educators.

"I'm going to hop in the shower. See if Joker is available tonight too—I kind of owe him for last time." John mumbled, figuring his personality was worth enough now that the sushi joint would make an exception for his last minute addition.

The pipes wailed and hummed as he switched on the water and undressed, casually tossing the towel over the sink before stepping beneath the gentle sprinkle of the shower head. The message on his private terminal reminding all Citadel patrons of the scheduled artificial rain went unnoticed as did the false thunder initiating its start from outside, both lost in a soothing stream of white noise and relaxation.

The Silversun Strip was as packed as always. Shopkeepers, civilians, and C-Sec officers bustled about on the ground while transport and commercial shuttles zipped by overhead, their sleek chrome bodies distorted by their speed, meshing with the brightly illuminated signs and marquees up above. The sidewalks were slick with water on account of the artificial rain that was still falling—a practical way of cleaning the grit and grime from the Citadel's heavily populated streets while simultaneously simulating natural weather—but due to the heavy traffic it was barely noticeable.

After parking and stepping out into the elements, Shepard glanced up quizzically and then back down at his jacket as a few stray droplets coasted along the smooth black leather of his jacket.

"I don't remember the last time I got caught in the rain," Kaidan commented absentmindedly as he smoothed out his Alliance fatigues and lightly kicked at the puddle that had formed near their parking space.

'_Caught in the rain.'_ Shepard furrowed his brow and scanned over the previously calm walkways that made up the strip. The people around him appeared more animated. Shoppers rushed their transactions only to scurry off into the nearest building, while the workers began to close up shop for the temporary cleaning window; Shepard mistook it as panic, scared survivors scrambling to get into cover before the downpour really started. Images of a former N7 mission on Benning flashed in his mind, a particular memory of one of the slums there burning into his skull as clear as the acid rain falling all around him.

The mission was supposed to be simple, clean, and without complication—just evacuate the civilians and eliminate the Cerberus operatives. In this case, intel hadn't dropped the ball; these acid rain storms were unpredictable and occurred sporadically, lasting anywhere from fifteen minutes to an entire day. Regardless, it made achieving their objective that much more problematic.

He stood there frozen as the evacuees frenziedly ran for cover, shielding their heads with their arms in a desperate attempt to buffer the hazardous rain that drizzled overhead. Herding them was a group of Cerberus assault troopers, accompanied by a decked out Centurion and a combat engineer whom was already strategically placing a turret near the upper north corridor. Knowing he had to move fast, the Commander quickly took in his surroundings and trudged forward quickly before briskly jogging towards the closest building and slipping inside, the purple aura of his kinetic barrier crackling beneath the heavy raindrops. Unarmed and flustered, he looked towards the west entrance and could only watch in horror as one of the civilians was gunned down right before his eyes. His face contorted in disgust as the acidic rain easily penetrated the bullet ridden man's clothing and skin, eating through each fibrous layer of fabric, skin, and tissue one by one, a large crater forming along his lower back until his body was nothing more than a pile of searing remains, save the parts of his upper body that had made it inside.

Being the trained soldier he was, John quickly composed himself and headed towards the alternate exit with the intent of flanking the gunman. Only equipped with a light shield, he knew he would have to move fast however, when he whirled around at the sound of footsteps tailing him he was not prepared to see Kaidan standing behind him. Without even an ounce of hesitation, he planted his palms firmly against the Major's chest and shoved him roughly into the nearest wall covered by a solid awning.

"John! What are you doing? What's gotten into you?" Kaidan stuttered out with a bemused smile, his damp dark hair clinging to the sides of his face and his soft brown eyes searching his partner's guarded expression for some kind of answer that would warrant his strange behavior.

'_John. He called me John,'_ Shepard mused inwardly, each of his senses snapping back to reality concurrently. The stench of chemically burned flesh that had previously filled his nostrils was pleasantly replaced with a mixture of petrichor and Kaidan's diluted cologne. Hesitantly, he turned to face the source of the laughter and idle chit chat that surrounded him, watching as the formerly corroded man was helped up by the shop owner after apparently tripping in the doorway. Finally, he turned his attention back to Kaidan who was justifiably growing concerned by Shepard's elusiveness.

"I just…I've never kissed someone in the rain before," he lied with an assuring smile before capturing Kaidan's lips in a romantic kiss and securing his arms around his waist.

Although he eventually did return the kiss, Shepard's peculiar behavior did not go unobserved. He let the former Commander take his hand and lead him down the stairs towards the refurbished sushi bar entrance, all the while wondering why the other's kinetic barriers had been engaged since they left the apartment.


	3. Awakening

Several weeks had passed since the night of Shepard's last episode and though Kaidan had not recognized it as that; an episode-at the time, his lover's condition had become increasingly difficult to ignore. With the Citadel Recovery Project taking a brief political recess due to bureaucratic and external turmoil, John was left with more time than he knew what to do with. The resurgence endeavor had been keeping him occupied thus far and had been his go-to excuse more than a dozen times. However, without the proper schedule to back it up and John's behavior continuing to worsen, Kaidan had eventually caught on.

Alenko stayed busy balancing both his military career and his teaching assignment and as a result, Shepard was alone more often than not. In the past, John would have welcomed some downtime but without the constant stream of comm calls, Alliance and Council responsibilities, and daily battles, it became more of a burden than anything did. The problem wasn't the influx of free time though, it was Shepard's psyche.

From the moment he had woke up, John had been swarmed by Council and Alliance personnel, news and media reporters, and many of his friends and fans. Back then, the attention had been enough to keep his mind occupied and stable and though he had shown obvious signs of PTSD during his debriefings, his pride and tight schedule kept his concerns at bay-months later, the levies were finally breaking and it was beginning to effect his everyday life and with that, his relationship.

Kaidan had always been pretty perceptive, especially when it came to Shepard. Back on the Normandy SR2, he monitored the former Captain and did what he could to keep his spirits high and his head in the game. Sanity checks, a quick drink, or just a good conversation. Occasionally, after they had formally confirmed their relationship, they spoke about their future together. Shepard had been so reluctant, saying he "didn't want to make a promise he couldn't keep," but that defense had dropped as their military strength rose. However now, Kaidan didn't know what to make of things; all of their plans, their mutual ambitions, and their hope-the same hope that had defeated Saren, the same hope that had neutralized the Collectors, the hope that had conquered the Reapers-had reached a stand still.

Their relationship had become cold and distant but Alenko refused to let his emotions get the best of him, even if Shepard did. Although he had not been with John through it all-Garrus had made sure to point out that fact several times throughout their joint service aboard the SR2-he knew the man, the hero, inside and out and was not about to let him fall without giving him the chance to reap the benefits of their sacrifice and efforts. It was difficult to arrive home every night only to find him passed out on the sofa or staring lugubriously at the huge framed photograph of the former Normandy crew that hung in their living room, nursing a strong drink more often than not. Although he hadn't quite identified his disposition being as a result of PTSD and wouldn't until Shepard agreed to see a doctor, there was more than enough evidence that he needed help: they both needed help.

The fights and arguments were becoming more frequent and severe, most of them stemming from Kaidan voicing his concerns for Shepard's mental and physical health. On frequent occasion, one of them ended up sleeping on the couch rather than in the bedroom, as John had done the previous night, but by the next evening all was forgiven. Whether it was legitimate forgiveness or just both of them being too exhausted to hold a grudge was arguable.

Kaidan strode into the apartment blindly, his light auburn eyes squinting at the data pad in his hand as he read over the message detailing the results of his students' annual evaluation. The front door slid open accommodatingly, hissing and quietly locking as it closed behind him. The Major tapped the end of the sentence he had just finished reading and looked up finally to take in his new and very quiet surroundings. The sensor lights warmed to his presence, shining dimly and illuminating the sleeping silhouette of his former Commander as he rounded the large column in the center of the living room and set his sights on the couch. Frowning, he sank back into the kitchen and set down the heavy bag of take-out he had picked up while on the way home along with his data pad. "John," he called out from behind the counter, "brought home some dinner if you're interested." He knew he wouldn't be, but it was worth asking.

Shepard's eyes fluttered open almost immediately after his name had been called. He'd caught the tail end of what Kaidan had said and sniffed the air as the inviting aroma of steaming vegetables and hot noodles filled the air. As if on cue, his stomach turned. Scowling, the former soldier dragged his hand over his face and sighed against his sweaty palms, the skin of his bare back pulling as he reluctantly sat up. Unaware that Kaidan had already caught him sleeping, he plastered a tiny smile on his face and eased his aching body off of the sofa before making his way into the kitchen.

"Hey Kaidan," he greeted, the fatigue apparent in his voice. He tightened the drawstring of the dark sweats he wore and shivered as goose bumps formed along his toned arms from the cool air pouring out of the refrigerator. He pressed a chaste kiss to his partner's cheek as he walked by, barely even glancing at the generous portion the other man had dished out for him. Instead, he mumbled something about taking a shower and without even waiting for a response, disappeared behind the corner and marched up the stairs.

The biotic exhaled deeply as he watched his partner up until he was out of sight. After glancing between his plate and the foot of the stairs several times, he ultimately decided against eating alone yet again and instead followed after Shepard tentatively. He slowed his pace, loosened the collar of his Alliance instructor's uniform, and unfastened the first buttons before slipping it off altogether. Once his entire uniform was nothing more than a discarded pile of blues and blacks on the bedroom floor, he wrapped a towel around his waist and set off towards the adjacent bathroom. The gentle rush of water filled his ears as he neared, easily blocking out his footsteps once he entered and raked over Shepard's scarred glistening back.

To Kaidan, Shepard was the epitome of tall dark and handsome, and it would take more than a few arguments to change that. Perhaps it was their shared profession and experiences but the scars themselves had never really bothered him, it was the story and what they represented that made his heart sink: they were a grim and constant reminder of a darker time in both of their lives.

Still attempting to remain stealthy, the sentinel quietly strode towards the shower and let the plush cotton towel pool at his ankles as he reached to open the door, a sly and accomplished smile playing over his lips. He sighed as the steam enveloped him and finally stepped inside, casually touching the side of his oblivious lover's hip.

"Joh-!" Kaidan yelped as the other man abruptly whirled around and grasped his wrist excruciatingly tight before flipping him over and slamming him into the tiled shower floor. The Major's eyes went wide with fear and shock as he found himself face to face with the tip of Shepard's omni blade, the steam rising and fizzling loudly as the water made contact with the searing hot edge.

Kaidan gazed up at Shepard with a look of pure astonishment, his eyes wide and breathing labored as a result of what had just happened. He watched cautiously as the former Commander mimicked his expression and let his jaw fell slack as he stumbled back against the wall encasing them, the blade disappearing as quickly as he had summoned it. Coughing once, he slid down against the tall glass, the surface squeaking until he hit the floor. Tears streamed down his cheeks, merging with the water that poured down on him from above as he hunched forward and buried his face in his hands in an attempt to muffle his own cries.

The minutes following the shower incident had been a blur to Shepard who was still getting over the fact that he had come just centimeters away from ending Kaidan's life. He briefly remembered being escorted out of the shower and the bathroom altogether and then being dried off hastily before Kaidan had ushered him towards the bed to lay down. He'd taken his usual spot next to him which only confused Shepard more. How could he even stand to look at him after that?

A few hours had passed since then which Shepard confirmed after double checking Kaidan was fast asleep, stumbling towards his terminal, and seating himself at the desk in the next room over. The light in the corner of the monitor flashed urgently, signaling that he had a private message. Curiosity piqued, he clicked it open, his sapphire eyes widening and his body tensing as he read over the single line of text.

"Shepard, they know about Anderson."


	4. Scar

_"Sure. I can talk about Commander Shepard. Big topic. There's a lot written about the Commander, but most of it isn't true. People are quick to judge. They don't know the whole story. I don't even know the whole story. But I know the man. Worked with him, fought with him. Trust him with my life. Shepard's had some rough patches. Who of us hasn't? He's been forced to fight a lot of battles alone. God only knows how he got out of some of that. Makes your head spin. Thing is, you never hear a complaint. Never once got a 'No, sir. I can't do that.' He never hesitated. Few people know what Shepard's been through. I'd like to think I come pretty close. And I worry sometimes he forgets; there's a whole bunch of people who lose sleep over him getting back home. Maybe it doesn't need to be said. Maybe we're too dumb to say it. Soldiers like the Commander are rare. Men like Shepard…even more rare."_

John sat there in silence, the light from the fireplace casting harsh shadows across his face and the flames reflecting brilliantly against his sapphire eyes. He stared at the pit vacantly, grasping a glass of TM-88 Peruvian Whiskey in one hand and a data pad in the other.

He hit replay again.

_"Sure. I can talk about Commander Shepard. Big topic. There's a lot written about the—"_

"It wasn't your fault." A disembodied voice claimed from behind. Shepard barely flinched, at least externally. His eyes remained on the fire, both intrigued and hypnotized by the blaze. "John, there was nothing you could have done. It was out of your contro—"

"I could have fought it. I could have been stronger!" He slammed the tumbler down against the coffee table and glared at Kaidan, standing abruptly from the couch. Images of Matriarch Benezia, Saren, and even the Illusive Man's final moments of selflessness and pure strength flashed in his mind as he attempted to stabilize himself and will the room to stop spinning. "I was weak, Kaidan. I was weak and that's why he died." Shepard stated as though it were a fact. Snatching up the whiskey he downed the contents and let the empty glass hit the table with another loud clack. He wiped his mouth with his forearm, grimacing as the stubble of his five o' clock shadow—that was now more like a ten o' clock shadow—scratched against his skin.

"You were indoctrinated!" The Major snapped back. Surprised by his own outburst, he raised his eyebrows woefully and let his hands fall to his sides. "You were like a son to him—you would have never done anything to harm him willingly. Anderson knew that, I know that, and the Alliance will see that." Cautiously, Kaidan stepped towards his lover until he could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath. "I can't stand to see you like this." Frowning, he pressed his palm to the side of Shepard's face, letting his fingers tangle in his short hair and his thumb press against the deep pinched wrinkles at the corner of his eye.

John stood there motionless, his expression stoic as Kaidan touched him. He had been unable to make eye contact with him since the shower incident. Despite the desperation and sincerity in the other man's voice, Shepard could not bring himself to believe anything he said. "Then maybe you should just go," he responded coldly before pulling away, brushing against his shoulder as he walked past him and back into the study.

Although the Normandy had been anchored in the Citadel's docking bay for quite some time, many of the ship's features were still active-the War Room included. Tension among the Council and the public had remained at a steady state of instability since the fall of the Reapers and the end of the war, but the Citadel was far from the progressive intergalactic space hub it had once been. The transition from daily battles and the threat of extinction to peacetime had been more difficult than the Alliance or the Council could have ever predicted. Authorities were constantly challenged with riots, threats, and other pointless acts of violence. Hospitals were in short supply of staff and supplies, customs was overrun with angry and impatient civilians, and soldiers from all corners of the galaxy desperate to get home. Though Citadel officials were striving to meet the needs of the people, they had barely made a dent in their workload. In addition to the rise in criminal activity, the less powerful ambassadors and public had banded together, taking advantage of the current Council's vulnerability by urging someone to step up and take responsibility for the unpreparedness of the Citadel and demanding Council reform.

After a very brief back and forth with Hackett via his private terminal, Shepard had agreed to stand by for a call in the SR2's Comm room. When the console began to chime and flash, he looked up from his data pad and briskly approached the scanning platform. His hair was unkempt and passed regulation length and his facial hair appeared much fuller even through the static of their secured channel.

"Shepard," the Admiral greeted. "I'm glad you could spare some time." It was out of character for Hackett to waste time with small talk so he went right ahead with the real reason they were here. "Your debriefing files following the Reaper's destruction-the audio, the video, the manuscripts, are no longer classified as confidential. People are already asking questions and the news hasn't even gone public yet. I'm sorry, Shepard. I pulled a lot of strings to keep this buried but we both knew it was only a matter of time..." The Admiral's image rippled and shook as he continued but the deep and authoritative tone of his voice came in as clear as day. "They are in talks about an investigation." He concluded, pausing before his next statement. If he was lucky, there would be about a two week period before the media got their hands on the information.

"Off the record, I believe you. You've sacrificed everything for your planet and our allies and I wish that was enough to clear your name but...it isn't. I wasn't there, Shepard. I don't know what happened. You're going to have people supporting you and people demanding your head-nothing you're not used already, right? Your best bet is to just go along with the investigation, tell the truth, and see how it plays out." They seemed like pretty standard instructions but John knew that proving his innocence would be much easier said than done, especially since he barely believed it himself. The Alliance was thorough and reputation could only take someone so far; Shepard knew that first hand when he had been held under twenty four hour surveillance after eliminating the Collectors. "In the meantime, keep up appearances. You've overcome bigger obstacles before. Give Major Alenko my regards. Hackett out."

Shepard watched in silence as Hackett's image fizzled out and remained at the communication terminal for a long while. He gripped at the surrounding railings and stared vacuously at the back wall until a chime from his Omni-tool snapped him out of his reverie. It was a message from Kaidan.

_'Kick off is at 1600. We should get there at least an hour earlier to meet up with Steve and James. Oh, and James keeps telling me to tell you to bring your A game—whatever that means. I hope your meeting went well. See you at home.'_

The former Commander stared questioningly at his forearm, reading over the message again until it clicked. He had agreed to make an appearance at the upcoming Biotiball home opener. This would not only be the first game following the end of the war but Shepard's first public appearance since the promotional ceremony that had boosted him to the rank of General. That wasn't to say he hadn't stepped foot out of the apartment but events like these brought in more than a handful of viewers-this would be televised on the extranet for billions to see, not to mention the thousands of fans that piled into the stadium to experience the excitement first hand.

The thought alone was enough to make John shiver with uneasy anticipation. Quickly, he composed himself and disconnected from the terminal before walking along the circumference of the room. He eyed the map in the center, briefly remembering all of the sleepless nights he'd spent hovering over it counting his war assets and planning strategies for every scenario. It was almost funny how none of those efforts came into play, though. As much as he would have liked to take credit for their success, most of Shepard's combat was pure improvisation.

Sighing heavily, John continued towards the exit and only stopped briefly at the security checkpoint that separated the bridge from the War Room. Although the station was now unmanned, the scanners and monitors were functional to prevent unauthorized personnel from entering or exiting. Considering the Normandy SR2 had already been stolen once, they couldn't be too careful. Even after the doors unlocked and the scanners retracted, he made no attempt to leave the chamber. Instead, he stood there looking over his face that was now projected on the monitor in real time. Illuminated, red cracks and seams branched from his cheeks and jaw only to disappear beneath the neckline of his shirt.

_"Just keep up that positive outlook of yours, Commander, and your scars shouldn't return."_

He scowled at the sight, gripping his own chin between his fingers and turning his head from side to side to examine the formerly dormant scars that now tainted his otherwise flawless face. "Shit," he cursed outwardly as he tore himself away from the monitor, walking briskly up the small flight of stairs, past the galaxy map, intent on leaving the Normandy altogether. However, something compelled him to stop in his tracks and pay a visit to the memorial wall. It seemed he could never come aboard without paying his respects. In reality, the names and the memories encased within the wall itself kept him grounded and reminded him just how lucky he was to be alive. He wished it were like how it was in the vids—where running his calloused fingers over the smooth marble plates would give him the answers he so desperately needed, prompting a convenient revelation and the strength to move forward, but nothing came from it, only pain.

_'Was it all worth it?' _He mused inwardly, his reddening eyes scanning over each engraved name. _'Ashley, Mordin, Thane, Legion, EDI.' _He paused and silently dropped his hand, his emotions and sorrowful reflections manifesting themselves in the form of a jagged exhale. _'Admiral Anderson.'_ John took a step back and did his best to ignore the faint, rectangular outline of his own plaque but like always, his eyes were drawn to it. _'They thought I was dead.' _Shepard hadn't exactly given them reason to believe otherwise but it still hurt to think that they had given up hope and that he had put them through that anguish not once, but twice. Pinching the bridge of his nose, John pulled himself away from the structure and dragged himself back around front. Never being one for self-loathing, the former Commander finally exited the ship and continued on his way. Time was short, but fortunately, the fast travel system in the Citadel was back online, making it easy to get from the docks to his apartment.

Chakwas had provided him with some kind of aesthetic topical cream that would temporarily lessen the appearance of his scars and though he had not used it since his resurrection, now seemed like as good a time as any to reapply it. The last thing he needed was for that Khalisah al-Jilani to scrutinize his appearance on live television. In addition to that, he didn't want to give Kaidan another reason to push him to see a doctor; it was difficult to claim to be okay when your own body said otherwise.

Unfortunately, the application process was not as simple as rubbing the cream in—it required a steam cleanse and a sort of exfoliation ritual that took nearly an hour and a half since the scars covered his entire body and not just his face. Even so, it was not guaranteed to work on the first try. Despite those odds, Shepard took his chances. Once he had rummaged through the box containing the contents of his old locker on the SR2, he disappeared into the bathroom for a long while only to emerge just moments after Kaidan had returned home.

Exhausted from work and emotionally drained from what had been going on with Shepard, Kaidan climbed the stairs to the bedroom sluggishly. When the former Commander emerged from the steam-filled bathroom in nothing but a towel, the Major cocked his eyebrow and let an amused smirk play on his lips. "You know we have a fan in there for a reason, right?" Still smiling faintly he shook his head and dialed something into his omni tool, the gentle hum of the fan reverberating from the bathroom shortly after. Although he had initially intended to ask how the meeting with Hackett had gone, Kaidan found himself too distracted by his fresh-faced lover and ultimately decided to take advantage of his rare good mood rather than ruin it by bringing up a topic that would undoubtedly stress him out. There was certainly something different about Shepard and though a part of him knew he was fooling himself by thinking it would last, Kaidan just wanted to play along for the time being. A sanity check.


End file.
